She Won't Go
by purrpickle
Summary: Established Pezberry. Santana can't breathe. Everything's crumbling down around her, and the only way to stop it is to forget everything she thought she knew about herself. But when that's as scary as the storm itself, will she be able to face the truth?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I do not own Glee nor the characters within, nor Adele and the song _He Won't Go_. This story is one I started in hopes of finishing it in time for the one year anniversary of the day I posted my first Glee/Pezberry fic, but as that day is today, I failed. To make up for that, my goal is to update this fic at least every two weeks until it's finished. As for now, I am dropping you into the deep end.

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><p><em>Will he  Will he still remember me / Will he still love me even when he's free / Or will he go back to the place where he / will choose the poison over me _

* * *

><p>The slapping sound of angry strides in heels came from behind her, and Quinn slammed her purse down onto the table mere seconds before walking over to take the seat across from her. "Well," she raised an imperial eyebrow, "Are you proud of yourself?"<p>

Unmoved, Santana rested her hands on the table, giving her friend a mild look. "Hello to you, too," she answered.

Quinn reached out and pulled Santana's sunglasses away from her face before she could do anything to stop her. Frowning, she folded them and set them down next to her purse. "S, _why _did you go to Puck's? You look…"

Blinking at the sudden piercing light, Santana shot Quinn a disgruntled look, but one corner of her mouth turned up. She lifted her left arm to prop her chin onto her palm, curling her fingers around her jaw, "Like shit?"

Moving her head up and down, Quinn smiled faintly, "Well, I _was _going to say hung over and exhausted, but I'm sure that… Description works as well."

Santana shrugged. "It's better'n Puck said." Yeah, _that _had been fun: being woken up by a towel hitting her in the face and Puck telling her that while he appreciated her and all that crap, having a chick in his bed who looked like a melting Elizabeth Taylor was majorly bad for his rep, so she should get her hot booty into the shower and 'fix' herself. It was only when he'd presented her with already toasted frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts that she forgave him. Too bad she'd already used up all of the hot water. It wasn't _her_ fault he made a girl he'd just insulted go first.

Quinn let out an exasperated sigh. "That's because he's _Puck_." Her words dripped condescension, and she studied Santana intently.

Huffing, Santana rolled her eyes. She didn't want to sit there in silence just so Quinn could _look _at her. "Just ask it, Q." Her voice came out sounding a little sharper than she meant it, but she wasn't going to take it back. She knew her friend had picked up on the gym bag in the chair next to her.

Quinn pursed her lips. "Rachel kicked you out, didn't she?" When Santana didn't answer, she sighed. "Well, grab your crap and follow me."

Without looking at her, Santana slid off her chair, grabbing her sunglasses and gym bag. "Awesome," she drawled half-heartedly. Quinn's would be nicer than Puck's had been.

Leading her to her car, Quinn frowned, obviously trying to figure something out. Finally, when Santana was getting tired of the oppressive silence, the blonde stopped, catching her arm. "Santana. Why didn't you contact me first? And don't give me the lame-ass answer. I want the honest one."

Santana stared defiantly at her. "His was closer."

Quinn glared at her. "_Honest _answer."

Fuck you, Quinn. She averted her gaze. "…He had alcohol."

Quinn shook her head, taking a step back, "I can't _believe _you!" Then, she narrowed her eyes. "Did you sleep with him?"

"_Fuck no_!" Santana snapped, "_God_, who do you think I _am_? Have a fight with Rachel so I jump into someone else's bed?"

"You've done it before."

Santana flinched. She couldn't say it wasn't true. Shaking her head, she crossed her arms, looking up. "Okay, maybe, yes. Yes, I cheated. But that was _before_. When we became official, I – " Santana clicked her jaw shut. Why the fucking hell was she telling Quinn this? "No, this ain't _any _of your business." Spying Quinn's car across the parking lot, she turned back to her. "Am I still crashing?" she asked stiffly.

Quinn worked her tongue in her cheek, hazel eyes looking Santana over, who kept her chin up, waiting not-so-patiently. Going back to Puck's house was _not _preferable, so she'd like to know if she would have to go suck up to her parents.

Finally, "Get your ass in the car," Quinn ordered, pulling her own sunglasses out of her bag. Slipping them on, she gave Santana an unimpressed look. "You want to call B, or should I?"

* * *

><p>Quinn kept on fucking texting someone. Not that Santana had never texted while in front of her friends before, but this seemed to be on another level. With a slight frown on her face that pinched her lips, furrowing her brow, it didn't help that the blonde would also send Santana furtive glances every now and again, pausing in typing or right after she'd read or sent one. Knowing it couldn't be B, since she was wrapped around Santana's back, chin resting on her shoulder, and figuring it wasn't Puck due to how long it took the person to answer back, she was starting to get frustrated.<p>

It finally got to the point that Santana couldn't take it anymore. "God _dammit_, Q, who the _hell are you texting_?"

Quinn stopped, her eyes flying up to meet Santana's. It looked like she didn't know if she should say anything or not, and that made Santana angrier. "It better not be Rachel," she threatened.

"Like you have any say over who I text," Quinn retorted, bringing a hand up to push her hair behind her shoulder. "And seriously, what if I was?"

Santana gawked at her. "_Excuse _me? You's be better _not_ sassin' me about _my _girl!"

"S," Brittany admonished quietly, poking her side.

Growling under her breath, Santana turned down the wattage of her glare, forcing down some of her outrage.

"You done?" Quinn arched an eyebrow at her. Setting her phone down, she swiveled her body to fully face Santana, looking for all intents and purposes as if she was going to speak to her as if she was a little child. "Good. Now, shut up. I'm going to tell you something you _need _to hear."

What the hell? Starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable, Santana crossed her arms, barely able to feel Brittany squeezing her waist supportively. "I don't know what you're playin' at, Fabray – "

"I'm '_playing_' at saving your _relationship_, _Santana_!" Quinn snapped. Raising her hands, she opened her mouth, then paused, shaking her head and opening her mouth again, meeting Santana's gaze squarely, "Why did Rachel kick you out?"

What the _fuck_ did Quinn think she knew about the situation? This wasn't the first time Santana'd gotten in trouble with Rachel. She just needed to wait a couple of days and it would all blow over. Hell, her girlfriend would practically _beg _her to come back.

Ignoring her unease, she shrugged. "Rachel got all bent out of shape over nothing. 'S all cool. I gots it covered."

Brittany sighed. Unwinding her arms from around Santana, she shifted and dropped from Quinn's bed.

"Britts?"

Brittany turned to her, her eyes sad. "You're being stupid," she whispered, taking a seat next to Quinn on the bench under the window.

Santana stared at the two blondes. "I don't see _how_. Rachel's being ridiculous, and I'm waiting it out."

"She kicked you _out_, San."

"It's not the first time!"

Quinn scoffed. "Doesn't that _tell _you something?"

She didn't want to hear this. Holding her hand up, Santana frowned angrily at Quinn and Brittany, "I would think _I _would be the one knowing the state of my relationship. Not you."

Quinn threw up her hands. "_Really_?" she glared at Santana, snatching up her phone. Scrolling through it, she found what she was looking for and threw it at Santana's lap. Scrabbling to catch it, Santana glowered at her, automatically sneering at Quinn's snapped, "_Read it_."

_I… I just don't know anymore. I love her. That's not in dispute. But I don't think it's working. I don't think it's been working for a while, to be honest. _

Instantly numb, Santana scrolled up to read from the beginning of the thread. Getting to the top, she was about to skip down again when her name caught her eye.

Rachel: _Don't forget to bring brownies for the bake sale! I have you down for lemon bars, if you need reminding. Let me or Santana know if you need any help baking. :)_

Quinn: _Don't need help, but thanks. Been baking them for years. What are you bringing?_

Rachel: _My famous Rachel Berry sugar cookies, of course! And San's making brownies with Puck._

Rachel: _Oh! But don't worry. I made her promise to stop Noah from putting any marijuana in them, this time. She's on Puck-watch._

Quinn: _Lol. Still, I think we should probably check for ourselves, don't you think?_

Rachel: _Is Santana with you?_

Quinn: _No… What's up?_

Rachel: _I don't think it's anything to worry about, but I don't know where she is, and she's not answering her phone. I mean, it's only been twenty minutes since the time she said she'd be home._

Quinn: _Maybe she's driving? That'd explain not answering her phone._

Rachel: _I guess. She does tend to forget that she has hands free. I just… I want her home._

Quinn: _A little controlling, much?_

Rachel: _Quinn! It's not like that. We're supposed to go out to dinner with my fathers in an hour, and you know how long she takes to get ready._

Quinn: _I take it it's not one of your 'normal' dinners? She's not answering my texts or calls either._

Rachel: _She's not? And no. This is the six month anniversary dinner to celebrate Santana and me successfully living together. We invited San's parents, but you know…_

Quinn: _Ugh. Now I'm getting worried. When's the dinner?_

Quinn: _Have you tried Brittany?_

Rachel: _At 8:00, so in half an hour. And yes. She said she'd last talked to Santana at Mike's house._

Quinn: _Mike's house?_

Rachel: _Apparently, he was hosting a video game tournament. Quinn… I don't think it would be overreacting to say I'm getting fed up. Mike said Santana left ten minutes ago. What was she doing? She was supposed to be leaving an hour ago!_

Rachel: _She's here._

Quinn: _I take it it's not good._

Rachel: _You could say that. _

Quinn: _What happened?_

Rachel: _I kicked her out._

Quinn: _What? Why?_

Rachel: _Why do you think, Quinn? You know what she was up to? She came home drunk. DRUNK. Before our dinner! And she didn't even know why I was upset? 'Oh, I'll be sober after my shower. Santana Lopez can handle her drink. You're being a fucking buzzkill, Rachel.'_

Quinn: _Ouch. Where did she even get the alcohol?_

Rachel: _Oh, you know her. She can get it anywhere. Or Mike had it. But that wasn't what bothered me._

Quinn: _You don't have to feel obligated to tell me._

Rachel: _I need to talk about it before I burst into tears and call her back, so I am preemptively appreciating you letting me vent. Thank you. How often does Santana drink, would you say?_

Quinn: _Don't worry about it. There's a party every Friday. Sometimes Saturday, too._

Rachel: _Add two or three days a week when she's having her 'lesbian brother' dates with Puck or the others._

Quinn: _Oh. I guess you're right. I hadn't noticed._

Rachel: _Why would you? You don't live with her. I do. ...Did. Do. I don't know! When we moved in together, I didn't know she'd take advantage of it to perfect her underage drinking!_

Quinn: _I know Santana likes her alcohol, but she's really that… Alcoholic?_

Rachel: _We've talked about it. She promised to cut back. But she's not. She… It's like she didn't even LISTEN to me. She promised, but she obviously had no intention of keeping it. I don't even know if I'm angry or sad or hurt or something else entirely. I just… I feel like she lied to me._

Quinn: _Do you want me to talk to her?_

Rachel: _No. No, please don't. _

Quinn: _Are you sure?_

Rachel: _Yes, I'm sure. She's at Puck's, anyway, so it would be pointless. Anyway, I think I should go. I have Kleenex and dairy-free ice cream and a new copy of Fried Green Tomatoes. I'm good. Mostly good. How is it that you can be so angry at someone and want them with you at the same time? No, don't answer that. It'll make me start crying again, and I JUST stopped. Good night, Quinn. Thank you._

Quinn: _Of course. You're my friend too. I'm here if you need me. And, Rachel? I'm sorry._

Rachel: _Thank you, Quinn. Night._

Quinn: _Night._

Quinn: _If you're wondering, I have Santana. Do you want me to send her over?_

Rachel: _Is she sober?_

Quinn: _Barely. Badly hungover._

Rachel: _Then no. _

Quinn: _Probably a good idea, but figured I'd ask anyway. How are you doing?_

Rachel: _Badly. I don't think I got any sleep last night. I kept on waiting for Santana to contact me, but she didn't. Of course my imagination went wild._

Quinn: _If it's any consolation, she said she didn't sleep with anyone._

Rachel: _…Is it bad that that makes me very relieved? _

Quinn: _Honestly, no._

Rachel: _The worst part? I… I don't even know if I… If I'll be ABLE to talk to Santana. Any time soon. Ever. It hurts to say that, and I wish I wasn't, but… She betrayed my trust. She betrayed my FATHERS' trust. Do you know how much groveling I had to do to get out of dinner last night?_

Quinn: _Rachel… Santana's my friend, and I can't tell you what to do, but I think you should try talking to her. She may be posturing like hell right now, but I can tell she's upset, too. I just don't know WHEN she'll be willing to talk._

Rachel: _I don't know if I want to talk to her._

Quinn: _Of course you do. You're still in love with her, aren't you?_

Rachel:_ I… I just don't know anymore. I love her. That's not in dispute. But I don't think it's working. I don't think it's been working for a while, to be honest. _

And then new: _What if I'm using my issues with her drinking to mask something else? What if I'm using it to justify breaking up with her? Oh my God, I can't believe I'm saying this._

Santana jerked back. "What the fuck is this?" she tried to yell, it coming out as a rasp instead. "What the fuck? Quinn, why the fuck did you _show me this_?" Thrusting the phone away, Santana jumped up from the bed. What? No. She didn't have a drinking problem! Alcohol just made things more fun, sometimes. And it wasn't like _Rachel_ was a saint. What the fuck was this hissy fit? Rachel wasn't _serious_, was she? She _couldn't _be serious. She couldn't be breaking up with her. No, they had a good relationship, didn't they? Rachel was just blowing things out of proportion lately. Yeah, they'd talked about Santana's drinking, but she had it under control. It was true she should have been home sooner, but when someone offered Santana Lopez a shot or couple, it wasn't like she could turn it down. And she and Rachel would have made it to the restaurant on time!

Quinn stood up. "You needed to see it."

"_Not like that_!" Santana shouted, slashing a hand at the dropped phone. "Not from _you_."

"From who?" Brittany spoke up, looking at her seriously, "You don't let Rachel _talk _to you anymore."

"We talk all the time!" Santana was starting to break down. "You know Rachel! It's like she _never _stops talking!"

Shaking her head, Brittany rose, walking past Quinn. "San," she whispered, "Are you even listening to yourself?"

"God, what is this? An _intervention_?" Slapping away the hand Brittany tried to put on her shoulder, Santana raised trembling hands to her face. "I don't _need _an intervention!"

Quinn took a deep breath. Her voice, quiet but firm, cut through the air. "You're so close to losing her, Santana."

Santana violently shuddered. "_No_! No I'm _not_! This is going to blow _over_."

Soft hands curled around the back of her head and neck, and Brittany pulled her forward. "You know that's not true," she admonished, pressing Santana into her front. "San. Stop lying to yourself."

Letting Brittany hold her head against her chest, Santana choked, her tears spilling forth. "I don't have a problem," she insisted, "I don't, I don't, I _don't_." Her fingers dug into Brittany's sides, and Brittany's arms wrapped around her back. "I _don't_."

Quinn's hand was warm on her shoulder. "Then call Rachel and tell her you want to talk. Can you do that?"

Santana nodded, just wanting everything to be _over_.

"Good."

Brittany hugged her close. "It's going to be okay," she whispered, stroking Santana's hair, "Rachel loves you more than she loves applause, and you love her more than you love Breadstix. You guys'll make it."

Santana wanted her to promise. Brittany's promises always came true.

* * *

><p>When Rachel answered, her nose and throat sounded stuffed up. "Quinn?"<p>

Santana tightened her grip around Quinn's phone. "No. It's me. I… Wasn't sure you'd pick up a call from my phone, so I used Q's."

"Oh." Rachel's voice was small. "That was smart. But tell me," her voice hardened, "Why shouldn't I hang up now?"

"Because I'm asking you not to?" Unable to keep her own thickness out of her voice, Santana hurried on before Rachel could hang up on her, "_Please_, Rache."

A loud breath of air echoed in the speaker, and when Rachel spoke again, she sounded tired. "What is it?"

Santana grit her teeth. This was the hard part. Even if she wasn't so sure she'd been the wrong party, she was aware of how hypocritical this was going to sound. "Look… Can we… Talk?"

The sound of the call disconnecting was deafening.

Santana instantly called back. When Rachel picked up, she barely got out, "Rachel – " before she was hung up on again.

She tried again. "Baby – "

Click.

Again. "_Dammit_, Rachel!"

Click.

Again. "Why the hell are you even _answering _if you're going to fucking _hang up on me_?" she shouted.

"Maybe so _you _know how it feels trying to talk when the other person doesn't _listen_!" Rachel snapped back, then hung up.

One last time. "Fine then," she hissed, not paying attention to the words she was throwing at Rachel, "Then we really _are _over, aren't we?"

The emotions vibrating through Santana were mirrored in the vibrating of the silence coming from Rachel's side. "Okay," Rachel's voice trembled, coming out angry and hurt and so, so deep, "You have a week to move your stuff out. Have a nice life, Santana."

The last click tore through Santana's body.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Santana woke up in the holding cell of the Lima jail. A splitting headache, even worse than the one she'd gotten the day before thundered through her skull, and she'd barely woken up before she was puking her guts out on the floor next to her. She felt dead. She _smelled _dead. What the hell had happened the night before?

"Glad to see you up," a too loud voice called from behind the bars, "We were afraid you were going to get alcohol poisoning, but nope, it seems only the mother of all hangovers is what you're going to have to deal with. You're incredibly lucky."

Looking up through the blurriest eyes she'd ever had, Santana tried to focus on the faceless cop, only managing a glance before her stomach cramped and she was throwing up again.

"You're going to have to clean that up yourself," the cop threatened _way _too cheerily. "Unless, of course, your 'one call' arrives to bail you out before the janitor comes in here."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Santana rasped, too weak to move herself very far away from the sour smell of her expulsion, "And what the fuck am I doing here?"

The cop shifted. "Ahh, one of _those _hangovers." Resting his elbow on one of the horizontal bars, he sobered. "I don't know what happened before, but you decided to sneak into a bar and drink yourself to the point where two cops had to pull you out." He tapped the bar. "You have a mean right hook."

"I assaulted the – ?" Santana started, having to stop and quiet herself before she made herself throw up _again_, "I punched a cop?"

"No, Miss Lopez. You're here for disorderly conduct and public drunkenness, not to mention underage drinking." The cop stared at her intently, then tilted his head. "The guy you punched declined to press charges, due to the fact you'd apparently only punched him after he got a little too pushy in trying to pick you up. Either that or the crazy sobbing you were doing disturbed him too much."

Oh god. Santana didn't _want _to remember that. "Do you know who I called?" she changed the subject. Please be Brittany. She'd be the least judgmental. _Fuck_. Her head and stomach hurt. "And why haven't I been picked up already?" she added, lolling her head forward, trying to take deep, non-nauseous breaths.

"I don't know who, but I remember hearing they thought you'd deserve to spend the night locked up."

_Quinn_? Dammit, Quinn! Why had Santana called _her_?

The cop insisted on blathering on some more, but Santana blocked him out as much as she could. She was thirsty, so thirsty, and hair of the dog that done bit her wouldn't probably be a _bad_ thing…

Sometime later, the sound of the door to her cell rolling open jerked her from the light doze she'd retreated into. Expecting to meet Quinn's hazel eyes, Santana's heart almost stopped beating when she realized they didn't belong to Quinn at all. "Rachel…"

"Santana." Almost swallowed in a large coat, face red and splotchy and looking sad and disappointed and angry, Rachel opened her mouth, paused, shook her head, and turned and walked down the hall. Staring at the now empty spot, Santana struggled up. Muscles cramping and swaying, she had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself, but finally managed to start clumsily following her.

"You're lucky the janitor didn't come first," the cop from before smiled at her, and she just grunted a distracted, low, "Fuck you." Tears were already gathering in her eyes, and she knew she couldn't lose sight of Rachel. She had to catch up to her. She _had _to.

Going through the discharge procedure, barely paying attention and just trying to hurry it along, stuffing everything into her jacket pockets, Santana scrawled a fast, wild signature and stumbled outside into blinding sunlight. Forcing herself to keep her eyes open, she frantically scanned the front steps, looking for a sight, _any _sight of Rachel.

She had more luck with Rachel's car. Hurrying down the steps, willing her body to listen to her and _not_ cripple her, she reached the Prius right as a heavily crying Rachel put the key into the ignition. _No_. Slapping her palms down onto the driver's side window, she did it again to make Rachel look at her. "Please," she choked out, leaning heavily on the door, "Rachel, roll down the window. Don't drive away. Please."

Rachel shook her head, swallowing and sobbing. Her hand shaking as she held onto the key, not turning it or taking it out, she was tearing out Santana's heart with every second that passed.

"Don't drive while crying, c'mon. Please. _Rachel_." Not caring that she was begging in public, Santana slapped the window again. She was hurt, she was angry, she was terrified, but all that mattered was that she _knew _she couldn't let Rachel drive away. "_Roll down the window_."

'No,' Rachel mouthed, Santana unable to hear her through the glass, 'No, Santana.'

"_Why_ no?" Santana raised her voice, closing her eyes and dropping her forehead to the window. Grinding it into the glass, she curled her hands into fists. "Rachel, _please_," she gasped out.

"Ma'am, step away from the car."

_Oh my fucking god_. This was _not _happening. Staring into Rachel's eyes as long as she could, Santana pushed herself away from the car. "It's okay," she kept her hands up, palms out, turning towards the two cops who had just gotten out of the cruiser that'd pulled up next to Rachel's car, "I'll just go." But she couldn't make herself leave just yet.

Giving her a suspicious look, one of the cops walked around Santana. The sound of the window sliding down was loud; shutting her eyes, Santana took another step away from Rachel and her car, dropping her hands to wrap her arms around herself.

"Ma'am," the cop asked directly, "Is this woman bothering you?"

Tears started dripping down Santana's cheeks, and she blinked her eyes open to meet the other cop's gaze. Nonjudgmental, the woman was still stone-faced as she waited for her partner to proceed with the inquiry.

Rachel's voice was soft, incredibly exhausted. "No, she's not."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, all right then. Have a nice day, ma'am."

The responding, "Thank you," broke Santana's heart.

Walking back around Santana, joining his partner, the cop stared at her. Meeting his gaze, she could tell what he was thinking. She cursed herself and the police station, feeling helplessness well up in her body; there was no way she could continue trying to talk to Rachel without the two cops watching her closely.

Preventing herself from looking back, it took all of Santana's concentration to put one foot in front of the other. Without the urgency of racing after Rachel beating hot in her chest, her hangover was back with a vengeance, and it was combining with her shattered emotions.

It was becoming steadily clearer she had royally fucked everything up. How had this _happened_? _What_ had happened? Crushing her hand over her eyes, almost slipping down with the leaking wetness, she froze when the sound of Rachel's car turning on hit her ears. Feeling absolutely numb, she watched Rachel drive past and disappear down the road. Fishing her phone out of her pocket with shaking hands, she barely managed to hit the third speed dial before sobbing out, "Quinn? Can you pick me up?"

* * *

><p>Staring at the wall, Santana barely reacted when Quinn and Brittany sat down on either side of her. "I have one week," she remarked tonelessly.<p>

"To make up with Rachel?" Brittany asked hopefully, her hands clasping and unclasping each other in her lap.

Santana's chin trembled, and she shook her head.

"Oh, _S_…" Quinn sighed, then slid her arm around Santana's waist.

Santana shrugged jerkily. "I don't know what I did…" she barely got out.

"One week for what?" Brittany tried again, "One week for you both to calm down?"

"B," Quinn gently tried to lead her away from that train of thought, but Brittany continued on, "A week to not see each other, like before someone gets married?"

Santana burst into tears. "What the hell _happened_?" she asked, "Why is she so _mad _at me? Why doesn't she _want _me anymore?"

"Well, you _do _drink a lot…" Brittany started, but Quinn reached over and put her hand to her mouth. "B, not helping right now," she said through her teeth, smiling at Santana.

What the fuck was up with people telling Santana she _drank too much_? Yeah, she didn't remember deciding to get shit-faced the night before, and she probably shouldn't have done that, but the past couple of days weren't _normal _for her.

Pulling her pillow closer to her chest, Santana buried her face into it. She just wanted Rachel.

"Hey, S?" Brittany spoke up, pulling Quinn's hand from her mouth, "You'll see her tomorrow."

"I don't want to start moving my stuff _tomorrow_," Santana yelled into the pillow, "I still have _time_! I can figure out something – I know I can!"

Insistent hands grabbed and pulled her pillow; scrabbling to keep it, Santana suddenly found herself pinned under her best friend. That meant Quinn had her pillow, but she couldn't fight for it because _Brittany was on her back_. "Get off afores I _cuts_ you," she growled, struggling.

Brittany easily pinned her. "S, stop it. I'm not telling you to _move out_…"

"She's telling you that we have school tomorrow," Quinn finished, "It's Sunday, remember?"

Santana stopped moving. That was right. School. _School_. She could figure out some way to get Rachel again. To make Rachel realize how ridiculous she was being and bend over backwards to have Santana move back in. Because she was Santana Lopez, and she had pride, and she still didn't think she did anything wrong. All she had to do was convince Rachel of that.

* * *

><p>Monday morning, Santana woke up looking and feeling like shit. She'd had trouble sleeping, tossing back and forth on the floor of Quinn's room after Quinn had kicked her out of bed for tossing back and forth. Her mouth was dry, and she had a headache that wouldn't go away. Figuring it was leftover pressure from the tears she'd been unable to stop crying, she just grumbled and slunk into the kitchen, accepting the glass of orange juice and two aspirins Quinn handed her. Then, dragging herself into the shower, Quinn finally had to bang on the bathroom door to see if she was still alive and to tell her to get her ass out twenty minutes later. A quick breakfast of an apple and coffee, her headache easing only slightly, and settling her sunglasses over her eyes, she and Quinn were on their way to WMHS.<p>

"I'm going to ignore her," Santana announced, two blocks away from the high school.

"And why are you going to do that?" Quinn asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

Propping her elbow against the car door, Santana set her chin into her palm and stared listlessly out of the windshield as well. Quinn's disapproval of her plan was plain to hear. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, Quinn glanced over at her, then let out a breath, "That's not something I can answer." She signaled to pull into the turn lane that would take her to the senior parking lot. "But it's something you should think about seriously."

"I've _been _thinking, Q!" Santana threw out, jerking her head up in accent with her words and turning a glare onto the blonde, "Why the hell do you think I was awake all damn night?"

"Fine," Quinn raised her hand, then put it back on the steering wheel so she could pull into the parking lot. She glanced at Santana again. "You going to be okay with it?"

What did Quinn think? _No_, Santana was going to have _fun _ignoring the girl she'd planned to spend the rest of her life with. She resettled her sunglasses on her nose. "Whatever."

Quinn's sigh didn't fade from her ears until they'd stepped out of the car.

* * *

><p>Santana first spotted Rachel at her locker. Feeling like she'd been socked in the solar plexus, she stared at her through the sea of students. She was facing away from Santana's direction, small and thin, the slump of her shoulders radiating a muted exhaustion. Rachel…<p>

The small girl pushed open the door of her locker, Santana's attention immediately drawn to the large photo of herself and Rachel Mr. Schuester had taken at the last Sectionals that was taped to the inside, right underneath an I Heart Santana sign. When hesitant fingers stroked down the picture, then curled around one corner of the sign, Santana turned and sprinted down the hall. _No_. She couldn't watch Rachel tear down their… _Them_. She couldn't watch Rachel tear down _them_.

…Where was Puck? Or Aiden? Either one was guaranteed to have something she could use right that minute, _fuck_, even if it was something Rachel or the others wouldn't approve of. Well too fucking bad. The tears pricking at her eyes and the hollow cavern in her chest needed to be dealt with. And, aside from Rachel herself, there were only two things she could think of.

* * *

><p>She found Puck first. Catching him coming out of the boys' room, she pushed him back inside with her palms on his chest.<p>

"Whoah! Fuck! Let a guy zip up his fly first, why don't you?" he frowned at her, her barely catching it as she looked around to see if they were alone, wrinkling her nose and grunting at just how _gross _it was, "Unless, of course, that's why you're here…? Wantin' to get at what's inside?"

It was only luck they were alone. Santana grimaced and stepped back, crossing her arms. "No, not right now. And god, _eww_. You do that _inside_, Puckerman."

"Then why the hell with the violence?" Puck tugged his shirt back into order, crossing his own arms at her and leaning one hip on the nearest sink, "And shut up. You're a girl. You know nothin' of how dudes operate."

Whatever. "Okay, I'mma gonna cut to the chase. Puck. You haves what I need."

His eyebrows rose. "I thought you said you _didn't _want the Puckster."

"I don't." Glaring at him, Santana lowered her voice. "I. _Needs_. What you _gots_."

"Oh! Oh fuck." His eyes widening, Puck sat back on his hip to stare at her. "You _serious_?" he asked, "Because ever since you and the Jewish American Princess hooked up, you've been _lame_." He looked unimpressed.

"Then _un_-lame me," Santana gritted out. "You got it or not?" God, she didn't need _talking_.

Puck's eyebrows rose. "Well…" he drew out the word, "Depends."

"God fucking _dammit_," Santana took a menacing step forward, "Puck, I do _not _have time."

"God, _chill_, crazy chick." Puck flipped his gay-ass mohawk bangs and raised a judging eyebrow at her. "You hard up or something?"

Her headache really couldn't deal with this. And the more time that passed meant the more Rachel could be tearing them down. "_Look_." Running a trembling hand through her hair, Santana dropped part of her shield. "Puck. _No _bullshit. If you don't have it, I'll fucking go to Ryerson myself." Fuck, maybe Aiden was the better shot. After all, he still owed her a six-pack for that time she'd saved his ass by distracting Coach Beiste long enough for him to escape.

"You really screwed up, huh?" A heavy hand settled on her arm, and a small paper envelope was pushed into her hand. "Even more than Friday?"

Blinking, Santana looked up at Puck, and she shrugged jerkily, sliding what she had came for into her pocket. Ignoring the slight feeling of shame by concentrating on what she'd be feeling quite soon, Santana didn't even bother thanking him before turning to head for the door, "None of your business. I'll pay you back."

Puck raised his voice. "You better! And, hell, pick up some chips and dip when the munchies hit?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Yanking the door open, Santana held her head high and stepped out of the boys' bathroom as if it wasn't an incredibly skanky thing to do. She glanced at the hall clock. Good. Ten minutes until class started. Stopping at her locker to pick up her extra rolling papers and perfume and breath mints left over from the year before when she'd gotten kinda pot-crazy to deal with her parents' pretty much knee-jerk disowning of her before Rachel had not-so-subtly _encouraged _her to stop, Santana sighed and closed her eyes before shutting the door.

A flash of anger hit her, and the door slammed shut louder than she had meant it to, but she just growled and stomped off down the hall. Fuck that. Another illustration how Rachel insisted on _changing _her. Maybe it was a _good _thing, this breaking up –

The straps of Santana's backpack cut into her palms. Forcing her feet to speed up, she ignored the greetings of Tina and Mike and Mercedes and Sam as she stalked past them, bitterly happy she could get away with wearing sunglasses in school. Pushing her way outside, she scouted the field before making her way around the track and behind the bleachers. Alone. Great. She didn't have to share. Bending down to pick up one of the millions of discarded lighters, she made her way to the furthest corner, and, before she could talk herself out of it and ignoring the voice that sounded uncomfortably like a disappointed Rachel, she was soon doing something she had once promised Rachel she'd stop doing. Another broken promise, but it wasn't like that _mattered _anymore.

But as the smoke warmed up her lungs and the familiar feeling of loosening stress starting to flow out of her coiled in her body, she was almost violently dismayed to realize that even if this was better, it wasn't _enough_.

God, Rachel'd taken _this_ away, too?

Dropping the joint, Santana buried her head into her hands, shoving her sunglasses up to get tangled in her bangs, and started sobbing. Sinking to her knees, all she could think about was that split second of watching Rachel starting to tear down that single, stupid, _useless _piece of paper in her locker.


End file.
